The Dirty Word
Suicide is a dirty word. Try using it in mixed company. Try using “suicide” at a dinner party. You wouldn’t. Because suicide is not something people talk about.
Sean Dietrich
Questions, Remarks, and You-Sucks
Sean Dietrich pithily responds to reader mail in a manner that only he can.
Three Dog Night
In light of the critical world events taking place in the news, I know many of you are anxious to know more about my dogs.
An Open Letter to Three Soldiers
To the three servicemen who died in a midair collision on Wednesday in Washington DC. I’m sorry.
American Airlines Flight 5432
Sixty passengers. Four crewmembers. Sixty-four people. That’s all I heard the reporter say.
A Nineteen-Year-Old Miracle
She’s 19. Beautiful. Violent red hair. And smart. Morgan is one of those rare humans who honestly thinks math was not invented by Satan. The girl climbs into my truck, buckles herself in. “Hey,” she says. Fresh-faced and happy. Slightly out of breath. The flushed cheeks of youth. I like that she feels so at …
Dear You, Whoever You Are
You’re going through something right now. Something bad. Something truly, inexplicably, wholly, and everlastingly crappy.
I don’t know what it is. But it’s ugly. And it’s getting the best of you.
El Camino de Crazy-O
In a couple months, my wife and I will be deposited in a French airport with nothing but backpacks and walking shoes. We will traverse 500 miles on foot, hiking the breadth of Spain, from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostela.
The Helen Keller Art Show
The Helen Keller Art show was in full swing. The center is adorned in art. Tactile pieces. Colorful artwork. Sculptures.
About Morgan Love
As the 19-year-old young woman returns to college classes this week; as teenagers herd across campus like droves of cattle; as students all over the nation engage in the long-cherished tradition of not reading the syllabus; I just want to say how proud I am to know Morgan Love.
Bring on the Sunshine
Gray weather feels a lot like taking a field trip to Hell. I don’t like overcast days. Whenever the sky gets like this, I sit by a windowsill and entertain the idea of composing Russian poetry.
Dearest Lynn
Dear Lynn,
It’s weird. Weird knowing that you won’t be reading this today. You always read my stuff. It’s how we met. Which only raises questions about your taste in literature.
The Illustrious Marigold
My granddaddy said you can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat a dog. Someone who treats a dog badly, is a bad person. A person who treats a dog with regard and deference is a good egg.
My New Year’s Resolution
It’s the New Year and, judging by people’s resolutions, they think they’re supposed to be doing all sorts of impressive things like losing weight, saving more money, training for marathons, etc.
A New Year with a Blind Dog
I brought in the new year with a blind dog. She was seated beside me, wagging her butt. I think she could feel the energy in the air.
A Funeral Runs Through It
The casket was rolled in. The piano played funeral hymns. And there I was, behind a pulpit, poised before a congregation that was standing-room only.
The Christmas Breaks of Boyhood
Things in America have changed since I was a boy. We were feral children during Christmas breaks. We were dangerous. We lived without helmets. We had BB guns. We ate saturated fat. And we were never, ever inside.
Christmas with Becca
Christmas supper. The little girl beside me ate ferociously as though she had not eaten in 13 years when in fact she had already eaten two breakfasts, one Christmas lunch, half a bag of tortilla chips, a quarter of a cheese log, and various holiday snacks which all featured onion dip as a main ingredient.
